


Finding Salem

by ArianaFandoms



Series: The Crucible Chronicles [1]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: And angst, And cow-milking, F/M, First chapter is fluff, and SMUT, and fluff, and horse-grooming, and more smut, but there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2332070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaFandoms/pseuds/ArianaFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Richard Armitage's account of his trip to Danvers (AKA Salem), Massachusetts, this short story is my little embellishment of it.</p><p>Note: Includes allusions to and/or quotes from <i>The Crucible</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an abundance of fluff during the drive to Massachusetts.

You pulled your legs up under you, crossing them, the leather of the passenger seat cool beneath your bare feet. You and Richard had been driving for three hours, on your way from New York City to Danvers, Massachusetts. When he'd decided to take a trip to the 17th century town for character research, he had invited you to accompany him. You'd been sorely tempted, but your full-time job demanded priority, and you had initially declined. Richard, of course, had understood, but that night's sex had been particularly passionate, reminding you of your most recent skiing holiday in France. And the next morning, as he brought you breakfast in bed that was suspiciously reminiscent of the one you two had shared at the French chalet, you realized he'd been scheming all along.

Obviously, his plotting had been successful.

"A shilling for your thoughts?" he said.

"Shouldn't it be 'a pence for your thoughts'?"

"Maybe," he replied, looking at you over the rim of his sunglasses. "But I feel cheap offering you a pence, especially for your thoughts."

You laughed and shook your head. That man was something, all right.

"I was just thinking about how you got me to come along with you."

"I believe it involved _coming_ ," he quipped, a cheeky smile forming on his face when you snorted. The man was actually twelve; you were sure of it. "I'm glad you did."

As you glanced outside the window, at the green countryside and horses passing by, you smiled.

"So am I." You shifted, angling your body towards his. "But this trip is to understand Proctor. Won't I distract you?"

He switched lanes, passing an eighteen-wheeler truck, and glared at the GPS when it instructed him to move into the right-most lane for the toll plaza. It had been doing that the entire drive, but Richard always ignored it, since he had E-ZPass, which enabled him to go through the toll plazas without stopping.

"Probably," he replied. "But Proctor was distracted, too."

You stared at him in mock-insult. "So I'm your Abigail Williams?"

"Of course not," he said, giving you a pointed look. "Although I do clutch your back an awful lot."

"And sweat like a stallion, too?" you questioned innocently.

"Slightly out of context," he said dryly. "But I _can_ sweat like a stallion, if you'd prefer."

You watched him, sure he was joking, but his face lacked its previous cheeky smile. He gazed ahead, periodically glancing in the rearview mirror, his expression neutral.

"We'd have to turn off the AC," you finally said. "Or blast the heat, if we're in London."

"Something to look forward to, then." The same, dry tone, but this time, his lips twitched.

"Menace," you muttered, though the fond smile you directed at him softened the retort. "What am I to do with you?"

He took his right hand off the wheel and rested it on your thigh.

"Experience Proctor's life with me, for starters."

"Does that mean I have to milk cows?"

Richard glanced at you and chuckled at the trepidation on your face. He squeezed your thigh, the warmth of his hand seeping into your skin even through your jeans.

"Not unless you want to," he promised. "I'm just happy that you're with me."

"Me too," you said, leaning over the center console to kiss his cheek. "Really, _really_ happy."


	2. Sunset on a Spring Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Richard reach Danvers and get a little mischievous in the hotel room. 
> 
> Totally SFW, just a little fun flirtation.

Richard turned off the highway just as the sun was beginning to set, bathing the sky in a tie-dye of oranges, purples, pinks, and blues. The windows were open, letting in the cool spring air that smelled of grass and trees and the wildflowers in the clearing.

"It's beautiful," you remarked and pushed your sunglasses atop your head. With the sun descending, you didn't need them anymore.

"It is," Richard agreed. "Brings to mind one of John's lines."

"Which one?" you inquired, trying to remember the scenes he had rehearsed with you.

His features softened, and a wistful expression appeared on his face as he stared into the distance.

"'Massachusetts is a beauty in the spring,'" he recited. "Now I know what Proctor meant."

"And soon you'll know even more," you added, reaching across the center console to touch his thigh. "This is going to be an emotional trip, isn't it?"

He glanced at you and covered your hand with his.

"Probably. I do tend to hurl myself into my characters."

You had known that about him, but this was the first time you were actually witnessing it. You and Richard had met towards the end of his stint as Thorin, and his time as Gary and Chop had been too short for total immersion. But Proctor... You could tell immediately that he would be different. Even before he had auditioned, Richard had started to inhabit Proctor.

Your silence must have piqued his curiosity, because he squeezed your hand, pulling you from your thoughts.

"I'm going to need you with me when I visit Danvers," he said.

You snorted, drawing a smile to his lips. "No, you won't. You're a big boy." Bringing his hand to your lips, you kissed it. "But I wouldn't miss watching you muck out stables for all the world."

His deep, hearty laugh made you grin, as it always did.

"You may come to regret that enthusiasm when I smell of cow and horse urine."

"Maybe," you conceded. "But that's what showers are for, and I booked us a really nice room with a really big shower."

"Thinking ahead, I see," he said, and his blue eyes twinkled with mirth.

You smiled, already imagining that shower and the prospects it offered.

"Always."

Ten minutes later, Richard pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. It was near downtown Danvers, with lovely, green grounds full of trees and a little lake. Your balcony actually overlooked a portion of them, though the setting sun shrouded them in darkness until the lights flickered on.

"Fairy lights!" you observed happily.

The small, blue lamps lit up the clearing and formed various paths through it, one of which led across the bridge spanning the lake.

Richard came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"I think I read somewhere that Danvers had fairies, too, in addition to witches."

"Ah, that explains the lights, then," you said, lips twitching in amusement. "So, what shall we do on our first night here?"

"Not sitting," he murmured, his breath hot on your neck. Lips brushed against your skin, just touching, not yet kissing. A shiver ran down your spine regardless. "Something physical."

Your stomach chose that moment to rumble, protesting rather emphatically that you hadn't eaten since ten that morning.

Richard chuckled, the sound vibrating pleasantly through your body.

"Apparently your stomach has other ideas."

"I fancy stretching my legs, too, after that four-hour drive," you said. "Let's walk to the town and have dinner. Then we can indulge our _other_ hunger."

"Mmm, excellent plan," he purred and nipped your earlobe, before releasing you. Richard walked back inside the room, and with his hand poised on the door handle, turned back to address you. "Are you coming, darling?"

You saw his lips twitch, and you glared at him. The bastard knew very well the effect his mouth had on your neck. Despite a second insistent growl of your stomach, arousal bloomed in your core when his teeth had nipped your earlobe.

"Not yet, dear," you replied innocently. "I think you may need to try a bit harder."

Richard's eyes darkened, and he crossed the room in six, long strides, wrapping an arm around your thighs to hoist you over his shoulder. You squealed in surprise, but the light smack to your jean-clad bottom silenced you.

"Oh, I'll try _very_ hard after dinner," he promised darkly, as he opened the door and walked out of the room. "So hard that you won't be able to _resist_ coming."

Glancing at the doors on either side of the hall, you squirmed in his hold. It wouldn't do for someone to catch Richard Armitage toting his girlfriend like a sack of potatoes.

"I look forward to that," you replied, and you really did. "But I'd like to walk now, if you wouldn't mind. Four-hour drive and all."

He hummed in agreement but didn't set you down until he'd reached the lift.

"That'll teach you to belittle my sexual prowess," he said sternly, but the glimmer in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

You nodded solemnly. "Consider me properly chastised."

"Not yet," he quipped, with a crooked grin. "But you will be."


	3. Richard, the Farmhand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are cows and horses and...showers. Rated **E**.

Richard had awoken you at dawn with kisses. The farm awaited, he'd said, far too cheerfully. You'd grumbled and muttered and tried to pull the covers over your head, but Richard had continued kissing you, his stubble scraping across your shoulder blades, until you finally relented.

And that was how you had found yourself sitting on the fence, watching Richard try to herd the cows into the stable for their milking. You stifled your giggles, as the nearest cow _mooed_ at him and he stepped back in surprise.

"Come on, Richard," you encouraged. "Channel John Standring."

He shot you a mock-glare, as he gingerly patted the cows' flanks to guide them forward. They moved, albeit slowly.

"Standring herded sheep. Much different," he retorted.

Taking pity on him, you hopped off the fence and also began to wave the animals towards the stable.

"On screen, he did. But he definitely would have herded cows, too."

"You don't have to help me," he insisted. "I know this isn't your idea of fun."

Once the last cow was inside, you grabbed two pails and handed one to Richard.

Shrugging, you said, "I get to spend time with you, which _is_ fun."

When you and Richard had arrived at the farm, Kyle, the owner, had given you a lesson on the daily chores, before sending you off on your own. Periodically, he or one of his employees checked in, but you two were mostly left alone.

Now you would see just how much you had gleaned from those lessons.

"Proctor would not have had any help," Richard pointed out. "Elizabeth would've stayed at home, doing housework and taking care of the children."

The sound of milk squirting into the pail accompanied your reply.

"Well, I don't fancy cleaning the hotel, and there are no kids for me to look after, so it seems I have no choice but to tag along."

He grinned at you, his blue eyes twinkling with happiness. "I'm not complaining, love."

"Good, because I wouldn't do this for just anyone." You glanced at the two dozen cows that still needed milking and sighed. "Isn't there a pump that we can hook them up to?"

"Yeah," he replied. "But Proctor wouldn't have had one of those."

"Method actors," you muttered and heard Richard chuckle.

#

After cow-milking came horse-grooming. Now _this_ you were happy to help Richard with. And Richard, too, seemed more content, as he used the curry comb on his gray's coat. Your horse, a skewbald pinto, nosed your jacket pocket while you brushed her.

"I truly believe that any affection a horse shows me is because they know I have carrots," you declared.

"Not true," replied Richard, smiling. "Shaman liked you even when you didn't bring apples or carrots."

"Yeah, but she was an exceptionally sweet horse."

"Much sweeter than Richi," he murmured. "During the first series of _Robin Hood_ , he tried to buck me off, jostle me off, or scare me off in every episode."

Laughing, you grabbed the hoof pick and leaned forward to coax the pinto into lifting and bending her front left leg. When she felt your hand slide down her cannon, she did as you wanted, and even supported her own hoof, so that the weight of it wasn't all in your palm.

"But you two got along in the end," you soothed. "And he _was_ rather pretty." Richard shot you a mildly scornful look, which you grinned at. "So were you, in all that black leather." He arched a brow. "Handsome," you amended. "You were and still _are_ very handsome."

"Better," he said, in his best Guy of Gisborne voice. "But not good enough."

"Wrong character," you quipped. Still, you couldn't suppress a shiver at Richard's deep, dark tone. "What would Proctor do in this situation?"

"You mean grooming horses or being told he's handsome?"

You rolled your eyes in feigned exasperation. "Grooming horses, of course."

Richard was silent, contemplating, as he finished brushing his gray's coat and moved on to combing his mane and tail.

"I don't think he even has horses," he said finally. "He just sort of...walks everywhere."

"What about to till the fields?"

"I get the impression he does that himself, too."

"Wow, busy man," you remarked. "It's a wonder he has any time for a roll in the hay with Abigail."

Richard glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his face relaxed, but his tone belying his mischief.

"We could find out," he suggested. "For research purposes, of course."

"Of course," you concurred, your lips twitching in amusement. "Because you must be thorough in order to fully understand Proctor, right?"

"Right," he nodded, then paused, with a thoughtful expression. "Have you ever had sex in a haystack?"

"Well, no," you admitted. "Hay's kind of prickly..."

"And not very sanitary, I'd wager." You looked at each other, the same thought running through both your minds. "So maybe I can just use my imagination for that one?"

"You _do_ have a very vivid imagination," you agreed. "I could make you rabbit stew, though, like Elizabeth makes for John."

Richard chuckled. "Now you're just taking the Mickey out of me."

Grinning, you protested, "I would never do that." You abandoned the pinto mare and walked over to Richard. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his lips. "Tell me what will help you get into Proctor's head, and we'll do it."

"Later," he rumbled, wrapping his arms around you. "I have better things to do right now."

His mouth was on yours again, and he kissed you deeply. The mane comb drop to the ground behind you, but you paid it little heed, as Richard's tongue trailed along your bottom lip.

It was only when you felt something gently nudge your side that you and Richard broke apart. The pinto was there, trying to get at the carrots in your jacket pocket. You laughed, relenting.

"All right, you cheeky thing."

The mare nickered happily and chomped on the orange vegetable. The gray horse ambled over, so Richard reached into your pocket and drew out a carrot for him, as well.

"There you go, mate," he said, stroking the gelding's forehead while he ate. "We should move on to the next horses, before we run out of treats for them."

Rummaging through Richard's backpack, you withdrew a big bag of carrots.

"I came prepared," you grinned, a touch smugly.

He smiled, slinging the backpack over his shoulder, and took your hand.

"You always do."

#

By the end of the day, you and Richard were exhausted. You'd picked fruits and vegetables, since all the fields had already been sown and tilled. You'd watched him sharpen an ax, though after the first thirty minutes, you had grown bored and petted the cows instead. The animals were surprisingly affectionate, making you feel guilty for eating that prime rib last night. You'd even intended to help him muck out the stables, but he had confiscated the pitchfork and instructed you to do something fun. So you'd returned to the horses.

And now, tired and sore, you trudged into your hotel room. The bed looked incredibly inviting, but you both smelled of sweat and livestock.

"Would Proctor have bathed after coming home?"

"I doubt it," Richard replied. "He would've washed, but splashing some water onto his torso is definitely not as effective." He led you into the bathroom and turned on the shower. "Or as enjoyable."

He proceeded to undress you, pushing the jacket from your shoulders, tugging the t-shirt over your head, and easing the jeans off your hips, until you stood before him in your bra and panties.

"Is this how Proctor would have gone about seducing his wife?"

He gave you a cheeky smile and undid the hooks of your bra.

"This is all me, love."

You laughed. "Breaking character, then. Shame on you."

"Aye," he murmured, his gaze flicking down to your naked breasts. "But I have all day tomorrow to get back into his head."

Richard guided you under the spray, before he quickly divested himself of his clothes and stepped in behind you. The hot water felt wonderful on your aching muscles, and even though no washing had occurred yet, you already felt cleaner.

You switched spots with Richard, squeezing shampoo into your hand and working it into your hair. Large hands joined yours to massage your scalp, and you let your arms fall and leaned back against his frame. With his early mornings and your own busy schedule, showering together was a rare treat, especially when he doted upon you like this.

When you had finished rinsing out the shampoo, his hair was already lathered.

"Now see, that's not exactly fair," you complained, frowning. "In a few weeks, I won't get to appreciate your longer hair anymore."

As apology, he kissed you. "How 'bout I let you wash me," he suggested.

"Better," you said approvingly and moved aside to allow him under the spray.

He was quicker in washing out the shampoo, so by the time you had poured body wash into your hand, he was standing in front of you. You started with his arms, your hands gliding up them. Richard observed you with a small smile and obligingly bent his knees to grant you easier access to his shoulders and neck.

His chest came next, and you thoroughly enjoyed tangling your fingers into the hair there and lightly scraping your nails over his muscles. Pausing to add more soap, your hands then traveled lower, over his belly and sides and hips. They rested there, while you looked up at him. The smile still graced his lips, but it was transformed by his bright, smoldering eyes. A thrill of anticipation and desire arced through you, and your hands continued their descent seemingly of their own accord.

Not that you could blame them, considering what laid mere inches away.

Taking your gaze from his face, you ventured to glance lower. At the sight, your core began to throb. His cock, which had been half-hard, now grew under your scrutiny, tempting you to touch it.

And touch it, you did, with long, slow strokes. Your other hand snaked around to his buttocks, squeezing them as it spread the soap onto them. You continued this until satisfied those parts were clean and moved on to his legs. Then you nudged him towards the water, remaining on your knees while he washed off.

"Stand up, darling," he said, but you shook your head. His brow arched, before you wrapped your hands around his erection and began to stroke it again. "Ah, I see," Richard murmured, his voice deep and low.

"Well, it's not every day I get this view," you explained, circling your thumb around the glans and grinning at the hitch in his breath.

Further conversation was prevented when you licked along the underside of his cock, along the vein, and flicked your tongue over the frenulum. Another hitch in his breath, coinciding with your lips closing around the head to give it a tentative suck. Large hands buried themselves into your wet hair, fisting but not guiding. He groaned as you took him deeper, one hand resting on his muscular thigh, while the other hand glided over what your mouth couldn't reach.

With each pull off, your tongue swirled around the head, dipping briefly to taste the fluid oozing from the tip. Another suck had him bucking his hips, gently and just once, though his hands tightened in your hair for an instant. You smiled around his length, and you knew from the nails lightly scratching your scalp that he had felt it.

Gaze flicking up to his face, you were mesmerized by his expression as he watched you, his lips parted and his eyes hooded. His breaths were short and uneven, so you increased the pace and stimulation, your hand leaving his thigh to cup his balls. That resulted in a strangled groan. His cock hardened even more and began to throb with the telltale signs of orgasm.

And then he was pulling away and lifting you by your buttocks, urging your legs around his hips. The cold marble wall greeted your back, but the bathroom was so hot and humid that you barely felt the chill of it. Although even if you had, Richard's hand on your breast would surely have distracted you from it. Your head fell back, as his hand palmed the soft flesh and teased your nipple. He dipped his head and took the other breast into his mouth, his tongue mimicking his fingers' motions.

After ensuring your legs were wrapped securely around him, he trapped your body between his and the wall and brought his other hand to your core. His thumb drew circles over your clit, as his index finger stroked across your engorged folds. Your hips pressed down, and the digit easily slid into you, pulling a gasp from your lips. A second finger, a kiss, a flick to your clit, and you were quickly nearing orgasm. He must have felt the tensing of your muscles or heard the change in your breathing, because he withdrew his fingers and grasped his cock.

A hand supported your buttocks again, and, before he entered you, he gave it a gentle squeeze. With a snap of his hips, he breached your folds and didn't stop until he had bottomed out. Your moan echoed his groan, and he stilled to allow your body to adjust, peppering your neck and chest with kisses. Only when you bucked against him did he begin to move. He pulled out to the tip and pushed back in to the hilt, repeating the motion over and over.

Richard shifted you just enough that his cock glided over the roof of your vagina. Your answering gasp was swallowed by his mouth in a heated kiss. His thumb resumed rubbing circles on your clit, as your hands sought purchase on his shoulders. You clenched around him, eliciting a moan from him this time, in addition to a harder, faster pace. Sweat slicked your skin from the exertion and humidity, but you nevertheless met each of his thrusts with one of your own.

Heat coiled in your belly and pooled at the base of his spine, but your release hit you before his. Gripping his shoulders, you cried out, as the powerful wave crashed over you. Richard grunted and continued to push into you, his thrusts growing increasingly erratic, until he buried himself with a deep, drawn-out groan.

Limp and sated, your head fell forward onto his shoulder, and you two remained like that, with his face tucked against your neck, while you basked in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Wow," you breathed and kissed a mole on his shoulder. "We need to have shower sex more often."

Richard chuckled and carefully set you down. "Agreed," he said, pouring some soap into his hand. There was a coy glimmer in his eye, as he reached towards you. "Now it's _my_ turn to wash _you_ , and maybe by the time I'm done, we'll be ready for round two."

"What do you mean _we_?" you scoffed. "Girls are awesome and can have multiple, consecutive orgasms."

"Don't I know it," he rumbled, with a squeeze to your breast.

Needless to say, neither you nor Richard prolonged your washing.


	4. Disneyland for Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Richard visit historical Salem...and modern Salem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, God. I'm so sorry for taking months to update this. I had other stories and no ideas, but that's changed! The final chapter will be up sooooon. 
> 
> I have never been to historical or modern Salem, so everything in this chapter is based on Richard's interviews, pictures of the places, and the history of the places.

It was a beautiful spring day, warm and breezy, as you and Richard walked through the field. A brook babbled softly to your right, the sound accompanied by the occasional bird song. The one-time farmland bordered a forest, from where John Proctor had procured his firewood. It was also the place where the girls had danced naked on the fateful night that had plunged the town into Hell.

"This was supposedly Proctor's field," remarked Richard. He entwined his fingers with yours and gently swung his arm back and forth. "This is where he tilled his land and sowed his seeds, then harvested the vegetables for Elizabeth's stews."

"How do you feel?" you asked, glancing up at him. The afternoon sun brought out the lighter, almost reddish tones in his hair.

Richard knelt down and touched the soil with his free hand.

"I feel..." He picked up a handful of soil, just holding it and staring at it. He felt it between his fingers, let it fall back down to the ground. "...Sad." Standing, he wiped his hand on his jeans, which were dark enough so the stain did not show. Nevertheless, you shot him an exasperated look. "Proctor _was_ this land, this earth, yet now people walk over it as they would over any other plot."

"Not everyone," you disagreed. " _We_ know its significance."

Richard smiled down at you and brought your joined hands to his lips. He pointed to a dark brown, two-story, wooden building with red doors.

"Proctor's house is gone, but that one belonged to Proctor's son. Somewhere nearby are Giles and Martha Corey's graves, too."

"Wasn't the real Proctor like...sixty when he was hanged?"

"Yeah," he replied, "and Elizabeth really waspregnant, so apparently Abigail's description of him as a 'stallion' was accurate."

"Hmm, well, I _guess_ you could pass for sixty," you said pensively, your eyes twinkling in amusement.

He gave your side a playful pinch, earning a startled squeak, followed by a giggle.

"Cheeky woman."

"No, but really," you said, sobering suddenly, "this whole debacle started because of a girl's jealousy. I can't help but hate Abigail."

Richard nodded. "But John fucked up when he had the affair with her, and then he went and jilted her." He paused, gazing at the Proctor house as they passed it. "At least in the play, he did. Miller stuck pretty closely to the historical records, but that bit, I think he made up. Proctor would've been bedding an eleven-year-old."

"Hey, he managed to impregnate his wife at sixty, so who knows what went down in 1692." Richard looked at you with an expression that was part fond exasperation and part mild reproach. "Sorry. I shouldn't speak so disrespectfully of the dead, especially not of John Proctor."

He squeezed your hand and led you towards a large, two-story red house. You recognized it from the pictures that Richard had shown you. It was the Rebecca Nurse Homestead, where Rebecca Nurse, another woman executed as a witch, had lived.

As you entered the house, your previous humor vanished. Richard, too, was solemn, walking slowly and carefully around the first floor. The interior looked as though it were frozen in time. Various pieces of wooden furniture were spaced about the rooms--a spinning wheel here, a wicker basket there, a round table in the center. But it was the little bed in one corner that drew your attention, and Richard's, as well.

"It's a child's cot," he said softly, almost reverently. In it lay a cloth doll--a 'puppet', as Miller's characters called it. He slid his phone from his pocket and snapped a few pictures. "For Anna," he explained.

You nodded, understanding. John and Elizabeth had children of their own, but more than that, Abigail cited a puppet as evidence of Elizabeth's alleged forays into witchcraft.

After touring the rest of the Homestead, you and Richard walked along the path that Proctor would have taken to get from Salem Village to Salem Town. The mood was quiet, subdued. Richard was in his head, using all that he'd seen to begin creating his Proctor, and you'd been with him long enough to know that he was not to be disturbed during his character-crafting. So you strolled beside him, hand-in-hand, enjoying the warm sunshine and the cool breeze.

It was only when you reached modern Salem that he emerged from his thoughts.

"I was in my head again," he stated, frowning slightly. "I'm sorry, darling."

You waved away his apology. "It's okay. I know by now not to take it personally." You gave him a reassuring smile. "Besides, how many times have I exiled you to the bedroom while I finished a project for work?"

"I've lost count," he said dryly. A statue of a stylized witch on a broomstick diverted his attention. A few shops down, there was another, and yet another across the street. "Bloody hell," Richard muttered, "it's Disneyland for witches."

"Oh my God, it's Samantha from _Bewitched_!" you exclaimed, laughing. Your quickly took a picture. "Oh, and the stores. Look at the stores. 'Hocus Pocus Tours', 'Salem Wax Museum of Witches and Seafarers.'" Outside the museum stood a wooden caricature of a witch stirring a cauldron, with her face cut out to allow guests to place their own face in the hole. "Want a photo of you as a witch?"

Richard eyed the wooden thing with distaste. "I think I'm a bit too tall for it," he said diplomatically, then grinned at you. "But you're just the right size for it. Come on, love, get in there."

"Oh, shut it," you griped good-naturedly. "I'm hungry. Maybe they have a restaurant that doubles as an apothecary and doles out dodgy rabbit stew."

"Or some steak and chips."

"You're supposed to be finding Proctor, Richard," you reminded him.

"He had plenty of cows," Richard reasoned. "I'm sure he could sacrifice _one_ of them for steak."

You sighed. "Very well. Steak and chips it is, then."

"We can have dodgy rabbit stew tomorrow," he promised, leaning down to kiss you . A smile graced his lips when he withdrew. "I'm glad you're here with me."

You smiled back at him, as you always did.

"Me, too."


	5. Naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard has a dream. 
> 
> Once again, I used Richard's own anecdotes from _The Crucible_ and embellished them a bit. Rated **E**.

_2:37 AM, July 22, 2014_

It was a dry, heaving noise that woke you, which was followed by the _flush_ of the toilet and the quiet _rush_ of water from the tap. You waited, listening for the soft _squeak_ of the doorknob to signal his return.

“Another dream?” you asked sympathetically, as Richard slid into bed beside you.

“The same one,” he answered hoarsely. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, one arm above his head and the other resting on his bare abdomen. Richard often dreamt in-character, but you had never before seen him so shaken by the night visions. “I’m naked, as always, and standing in the center of the stage. Everyone is watching me…Sam, Anna, Yaël, and the audience…, waiting for me to say my lines. But I can’t. I don’t know how or why, but I’ve forgotten them.”

He paused. In the darkness, you could vaguely make out the shape of his hand covering his mouth. You knew what was coming next.

“And then suddenly, I’m not _me_ anymore. I’m John Proctor, being tried for witchcraft. My wrists are shackled, and I’m tied to a stake. I can still feel the heat of the flames surging up towards me. I can still smell the burning straw and wood of the kindling.”

“It was just a dream,” you assured him. Gently touching his wrist, you rubbed away the imaginary chafing on his skin. “You’re not John Proctor, you’re Richard Armitage, and you’re lying in bed with me.”

"I know it isn't real." He moved his hand from his belly to allow you to place your head upon his chest. "Obviously I know that. But you have no idea how vivid the dream was. It made me..." He trailed off, hesitating, then cleared his throat. "It made me vomit again."

“I know, baby,” you soothed.

“Sometimes I vomit between acts, too.”

“I’m not surprised,” you remarked. “You’re inhabiting such a tortured man. I guess that tension has to be released somehow.”

Richard scowled. “I stomp around and yell and cry on stage for three hours. Isn't that enough?”

"Evidently not," you replied, carding your fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest. It was beginning to grow back, and you knew he would shave it off again soon, so you enjoyed it while it lasted. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," you told him firmly. "You know that, right?"

"Yes," he affirmed, with a nod. "After all, what would an actor be without a little torment. But Proctor is different. I can't shake him," he explained. "I try to, but some nights he comes home with me. Some nights he-" Richard broke off abruptly, his arms tightening around you. You kissed his chest to help ground him, and he finished in a deeper, slightly ragged voice, "Some nights he shares our bed."

"Then stop trying to shake him."

You felt him shift and knew he was looking down at you, though you could not actually see his gaze.

"You didn't agree to move in with Proctor," he said dryly. "This isn't fair to you, love."

"Okay, then let's make a compromise," you suggested. "Shake him when you can, and when you can't, we'll deal. We did with Thorin," you reminded him.

Richard bent forward to kiss you, his lips curving into a smile.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"If this is the worst I have to put up with, then we're in good shape," you reassured him. "Now, I don't know much about medical things," you began, your hand exploring his chest, "but I _do_ know how to give you release."

Before he could reply, your hand traveled lower. It stroked over his abdominal muscles, that were tensing from your touch, and past his navel, to the waistband of his boxer-briefs. Pressing lightly against the bulge, you grinned when he groaned and canted up his hips towards your touch. Oh yes. You had learned early on that John Proctor not only heightened Richard’s emotional awareness, but also his physical and sexual awareness, as well. You reckoned it was all that pent-up ferocity, guilt, anger, and vulnerability, things that kind, mild-mannered Richard did not feel on a daily basis. But now his skin fairly prickled with the storm brewing in his breast.

You kissed him while you palmed him through the fabric, and from the gentleness of his reciprocation, you knew that Richard was in full control. Sometimes his characters bled through—Thorin certainly had, and Proctor, too--, but tonight you were with Richard only. That was not to say he wasn’t as desperate for release as Proctor was, but he was always initially overly careful with you, so you knew whose mind he was inhabiting.

“Just for tonight, help me forget Proctor.”

Your brows creased at the request. It sounded almost like a plea. Straddling his hips, you captured his lips again, opting for soft kisses over heated ones. There was a time and place for frenzied fucking, but tonight was not it. Every motion was fluid and languid, and suffused with your love for him.

Eventually, mouths opened, allowing each of you to delve deeper, but the curl of your tongues was slow and sensual. Hands remained in chaste locations, yours on his shoulders and his on your back. Your pleasure was allowed to build gradually, like a sonata’s _Adagio_ progressing into _Presto_. Only when your lips tingled from the pressure did you move downwards, trailing a path of kisses from his neck to his belly Your hands followed and kneaded the taut muscles of his arms and shoulders, before sliding over the pale skin of his torso.

All the while, he observed you. It was too dark to discern his expression, but you knew it well enough from memory--the smoldering, blue-gray eyes contrasting sharply with a tender smile. Yet that smile was fleeting. It disappeared when you licked his erection through his underwear, the black cotton already damp with his arousal.

Pulling it down, you kissed his hipbone in thanks as he lifted his arse to help the disrobing process. You smoothed your hands over his powerful thighs, your fingers treading maddeningly close to where he desired your touch the most. His cock gave an involuntary twitch, beckoning you, but Richard waited patiently, propped up on his elbows to watch you.

You sprinkled kisses from his bellybutton to the hollow where his groin meets his thigh, then finally focused on his erection. Wrapping a hand around the base, you moved it up to help his foreskin retract completely, revealing the glistening, pinkish-purple head. Your ministrations ranged from feather-light caresses to tight, hard pumps. Each time your thumb nudged the frenulum, his breath hitched.

But that pleasure was nothing compared to the sensation of his cock enveloped in the warmth of your mouth. Richard moaned. His hands twitched at his sides, longing to bury themselves in your hair, and they did just that when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. He groaned as your tongue swirled around the head, alternating between flat strokes and hard licks, your hand moving over what your mouth couldn’t reach. Your fingers grazed his testicles, which were slowly drawing closer towards his body.

And then he spoke.

“I want to finish inside you.”

Your movements stopped, and you pulled off carefully to look at him. Even in the dim interior, you saw his entreating posture, his legs slightly parted, bent at the knee, and his hands reaching for yours. There was also a submissive vulnerability to it that Richard rarely displayed. He was usually the strong, silent type, the one who nurtured and never asked for anything in return. But now he was asking, and you were helpless to deny him.

Once again straddling his hips, you allowed him to pull the shirt over your head and slide off your knickers. Richard sat up and wrapped his arms around you. This time, he initiated the kiss, the wet drag of his tongue mimicking the wet drag of his hardness against your belly. You cradled the back of his head and broke contact with his lips just long enough to lift up and sink down onto his erection.

Richard moaned your name as you began to move slowly. Your hips swiveled and rose, rocked and undulated, while he held on for the ride. You met his gaze, dark and wide-eyed, his hands clutching your back, always helping but never guiding. In this moment, he was the antithesis of John Proctor. Although the farmer also clutched a woman’s back, it was to _take_.

But when you clenched around him, Richard reacted, bucking his hips and gasping, the tip of his cock spearing into the sensitive spot within. Your moan echoed in his ears, and he couldn’t resist meeting each downward swing of your hips with a thrust of his own. Yet even as Richard's pleasure soared, John Proctor’s ferocity remained at bay. Another glance at his face reminded you that, for the first time in weeks, Richard was just Richard.

It wasn’t long until you were both hurtling towards climax. All that you required was for him to crush you against his chest, facilitating the drag of your clit against his lower abdomen, and you were muffling your shout into his shoulder. Richard followed seconds later, with a hoarse groan.

You stayed like that, sweat-slicked skin to sweat-slicked skin, while your hearts thudded in unison. And then you heard him laugh, his breath hot on your neck.

“I think Proctor is envious.”

“Of what?” you inquired.

“Of me.”

You kissed his collarbone and looked at him.

“Well, he should be,” you gloated, earning another laugh from Richard. “You didn’t think about him, did you?”

“No, love,” he assured you. “Proctor is banished until the matinee, which will hopefully allow me to get some sleep.”

Richard slipped out of you and lay down, bringing you with him. He stroked your hair, while you pillowed your head upon his shoulder.

“I wonder if he’ll be mad that you shut him out.”

Richard shrugged, jostling you in the process.

“Probably,” he said. “But I’ll just use his anger to fuel mine.”

“Uh-oh,” you murmured ominously, “Abigail and Mary have got it coming. You look very convincing when you fling Sam across the stage.”

“Believe me, it’s not exactly hard to do. Abigail tends to bring out violent urges in people.”

“I’ll say,” you quipped.

He kissed your forehead, and you felt the corners of his lips lift into a smile. Stifling a yawn, you snuggled deeper into his warmth and, within minutes, were asleep.

END


End file.
